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EPILOGUE.
μεστοὶ . . .
οἱ δ᾽ ἀμφορῆς οἴνου μέλανος ἀνθοσμίου.
οἱ δ᾽ ἀμφορῆς οἴνου μέλανος ἀνθοσμίου.
1.
"The poets pour us wine—"
Said the dearest poet I ever knew,
Dearest and greatest and best to me.
You clamour athirst for poetry—
We pour. "But when shall a vintage be"—
You cry—"strong grape, squeezed gold from screw,
Yet sweet juice, flavoured flowery-fine?
That were indeed the wine!"
"The poets pour us wine—"
Said the dearest poet I ever knew,
Dearest and greatest and best to me.
You clamour athirst for poetry—
We pour. "But when shall a vintage be"—
You cry—"strong grape, squeezed gold from screw,
Yet sweet juice, flavoured flowery-fine?
That were indeed the wine!"
